


The Chain: Fleetwood Macjokes

by altered_eagle



Series: City Goblins [26]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth has the patience of a saint, Arkham is a bad bad place, Batjokes, Caretaking, Don't @ Me, Don't steal this fic OR my style, Fleetwood Mac, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Joker (DCU) Whump, M/M, Ok @ me, Other, POV Alfred Pennyworth, POV Joker (DCU), Sickfic, The Joker has a heart, all of those ones, and call you out, fuckin' a, i am tired of plagiarism, if you steal i WILL find you, it's in there somewhere, just like i did the others, what are my usual tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25269322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altered_eagle/pseuds/altered_eagle
Summary: All Fleetwood Mac is batjokes,, this is the Fleetwood Macjokes fic depository
Relationships: Joker (DCU) & Alfred Pennyworth, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: City Goblins [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/268030
Comments: 25
Kudos: 55





	1. Bleed To Love Her

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man oh god oh man i had to change the title song >< i’m going back with my original gut choice: [Bleed To Love Her: Fleetwood Mac](%E2%80%9C)

_"Somebody’s got to see this through_

_All the world is laughing at you_

_Somebody’s got to sacrifice_

_If this whole thing’s gonna turn out right”_

__[-Bleed To Love Her: Fleetwood Mac](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5BZzkWXcwc)  
  


It may be a blessing in disguise, that you never witness his violence firsthand. Your introduction in the ballroom five years ago was enough. The clips that Bruce plays on all eight computer screens are enough. His smile is particularly difficult to endure; that evil twisted sneer seems so out of place on the face you’ve come to know. 

Your version of the Joker is anything but violent—he’s usually softened from pain medication and moving slowly. Always polite, if not a little stubborn at times. When he’s amenable to it he’s extremely receptive to touch; when he’s not he shies back in an automatic sort of way. The few times he’s wound himself up due to pain or exhaustion are the only shreds that you have to match up to that monster on the screens. On a difficult day the kindness and patience he shows towards Bruce can bring tears to your eyes. Of course nothing else about the Joker correlates with the life you’d wanted or even pictured for your son, but the Joker has it where it counts. 

They have it where it counts. 

You set the washing aside and cross the bedroom tired of watching the Joker struggle to move, pretending everything is fine. His wrists are cut to the bone from handcuffs. Boot-shaped bruises cover his back and stomach. The Joker’s body certainly feels it even when he doesn’t seem to, which is what draws you to him now. 

_Please let me help._

_Well when you put it like that_...the Joker sighs and reaches for you. _i just have to piss and stretch my legs, then i’ll get back in bed i promise._ He lets you take his hands and gently pull him into sitting. He’s able to straighten up on his own, so you wait at his side as he rolls his neck and shoulders. His joints crack like thunder. 

_Thanks...’preciate you,_ he says quietly, and you wonder if this is how Bruce felt in the beginning,

when he began to discover what lay beneath. 


	2. Never Going Back Again

[Never Going Back Again: Fleetwood Mac](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0E7rUemfC-A)

It must be early morning, from the faint glow seeping in through the tree outside. When i passed out it was too dark to see my hand in front of my face and my phone fell and it stayed dark after that until this moment, until now—the moment the tap tap taps rattle me awake at last. After a minute i realize the taps are footsteps, and while my eyes feel like sandbags i slit them open, let in a bit of light. 

Someone’s moving around the room, around my bed. Going back and forth from the chair with my duffel bag to a place by the window. My dry eyeballs itch fiercely and my hand comes up to rub but misses halfway, and i end up poking myself in the chin. Whoever’s here with me makes a sound of what might be disapproval or concern or both which is fine by me

because it means i’m not imagining them. 

The tapping keeps up, keeps me conscious. The sun keeps coming in.

My mouth tastes like vomit and my tongue is sticking and my head’s a hundred pounds of firecrackers so i keep it where it is while my eyes continue to focus until i can make out the outline of black tailored trousers and a black mister rogers sweater with white cuffs peeking out and now it makes sense, now i get it

_i don’t remember calling for a rescue._ My voice sounds like dust. Your old man makes a tsk noise, stops at the mattress and begins to pick up my clothes

_Yes you certainly don’t look like you need one._ A laugh bubbles up but it catches in my throat making me cough. Something soft slips under my head. The mattress creaks as your old man sits, and suddenly there’s a straw bumping at my lip. My stomach is sore and swallowing fluid sounds dicey but if this time is like any other your old man will sit here gently insisting until i give in, so i just take a sip. It goes down lukewarm and settles. 

_Can you tell me why you sent Master Bruce a single text reading ‘this sucks’ and then cut off all communication with him?_ My dry eyes roll of their own accord sending electric throbbing into my temples. i close them, keep them that way.

_God he’s...being a baby. When’d i send him that text, saturday?_

_Yes. And now it’s saturday, again._

_Oh._

Your old man sighs, long and deep, and i feel the warm weight of his hand on my arm where it’s stretched out across the bed. _Joker, i understand how highly you value your freedom, and why. But if you really care for Bruce as much as you claim you do...the radio silence needs to stop._ My body tenses.

_You don’t know...our terms_ , i whisper because i can’t find the strength or the saliva to talk louder or i would. _You don’t understand...our deal. i don’t change for him._ Your old man sighs again, and i can feel the way he’s looking at me. 

_That may be, but._ The hand at my elbow slides down to my wrist, warm and wrinkled and familiar. _Think of this simply as a request. From me._

Something i don’t know how to feel crawls from down deep, 

and long ago. 

Your old man’s hand squeezes mine briefly. _Let’s get you cleaned up,_ he says, suddenly all business again. _We’ll go slowly, and leave whenever you’re ready. Master Bruce is currently away on business and about to climb the walls._ The box spring groans as he stands. 

_Okay_ , i whisper, 

and force my eyes open. _Okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate using "..." so much but the Joker's real ill and can't talk so well
> 
> [This version of song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxfxcEH8_Co) from 1977 is very good.
> 
> EDIT** This chapter now has a sequel that will be a longer story! [Here it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26458939/chapters/64469914)


End file.
